GODFATHER'S PICTURE-BOOK
GODFATHER could tell stories， ever so many and ever so long； he could cut out paper figures and draw pic－tures，and when it came near Christmas， he would bringout a copy－book， with clean white pages； on this he pastedpictures， taken out of books and newspapers ；if he had notenough for the story he wished to tell， he drew them him－self． WhenI was little， Igot several such picture－books，but the loveliest of them all was the one from "the memo－rable year when Copenhagen got gas in place of the old oil－lamps"， and that was setdown on the first page．
"Great care must be taken of this book，" said Fatherand Mother；"it must only be brought out on grand occa－sions．"
Yet Godfather had written on the cover：
Though the book be torn， it is hardly a crime；
Other young friends have done worse in their time．
Most delightful it was when Godfather himself showedthe book， read the verses and the other inscriptions， andtold so many things besides； then the story became a realstory．
On the first page there was a picture cut out of "TheFlying Post"， in which one saw Copenhagen with its RoundTower， and Our Lady's Church； to the left of this waspasted an old lantern， on which was written"Train－oil"， tothe right was a chandelier—on it was written "Gas"．"See，that is the placard，" said Godfather；"that is the prologueto the story you are going to hear． It could also be given asa whole plny， if one could have acted it：' Train－oil andGas， or the Life and Doings of Copenhagen．' That is avery good title！ At the foot of the page there is still anotherlittle picture； it is not so easy to understand， soI shall ex－plain it． That is a Death－horse．He ought to have come on－ly at the end of the book， but he has run on ahead to say，that neither the beginning， the middle， northe end is anygood； he could have done it better himself—if he could have done it at all． The Death－horse， I must tell you， stands during the day tethered to the newspaper；but in the evening he slips out and posts himself outside the po－ et's door and neighs， so that the man inside may die in－ stantly； but he does not die if there is any real life inhim． The Death-horse is nearly always a poor creature who cannot understand himself， and cannot get a liveli－ hood； he must get air and food by going about and neigh－ing ． Iam convinced that he thinks nothing of Godfather's picture－book， but for all that it may well be worth the pa－ per it is written on．
"Now， that is the first page of the book； that is the placard．
" It was just the last evening on which the old oil－ lamps were lighted；the town had got gas ，and it shone so that theold lamps seemed to be quite lost in it．
" Iwas in the street myself that evening，" said God－ father．"The people walked up and down to look at the old and the new lighting． There were many people，and twice as many legs as heads． The watchmen stood about gloomily； they did not know when they might be dis－ missed， like the lamps ； these themselves thought so farback—they dared not think forward． They remembered so much from the quiet evenings and the dark nights． I leaned up against a lamp-post，"said Godfather；"there was a sputtering in the oil and the wick； I could hear what the lamp said， and you shall also hear it．
"' We have done what we could，' said the lamp， ' we have been sufficient for our time，have lighted up for joy and for sorrow；we have lived through many remark－able things； we have， so to speak， been the night－eyes ofCopenhagen． Let new lights now take our place and un－ dertake our office； but how many years they may shine， and what they may light up， remains to be seen！They certainly shine a little stronger than we old ones， but that is nothing， when one is made like a gas－chandelier， and has such connexions， as they have， the one pours into the other！ They have pipes in all directions and can get new strength in the town and outside of the town！ But each one of us oil－lamps shines by what he has in himself and not by family relationship． We and our forefathers haveshone for Copenhagen from immeasurably ancient times， far， far back． But as this is now the last evening that we stand and shine in the second rank， so to speak， here in the street along with you， ye shining comrades， we will notsulk and be envious； no，far from it， we will be glad andgood－natured． We are the old sentinels， who are relieved by new-fashioned guards in better uniforms than ours．We will tell you what our family， right up to the great－great－great-grandmother lantern， has seen and experienced—the whole of Copenhagen's history． May you and your succes－sors，right down to the last gas－chandelier， experience and be able to tell as remarkable things as we， when one day you get your discharge！ And you will get it， you may beprepared for that． Men are sure to find a stronger light thangas． Ihave heard a student say that it is hinted that they will yet burn sea－water！'The wick sputtered when the lamp said these words； just as if it had water in it al－ready．"
Godfather listened closely，thought it over and con- sidered that it was an excellent idea of the old lantem ，on this evening of transition from oil to gas ，to recount and display the whole of the history of Copenhagen ．"A good idea must not be let slip ，"said Godfather；"I seized it di-rectly，went home and made this picture-book for you ，it goes still farther back in time than the lamps could go ．
"Here isthe book；here is the history：
'openhagen' ife and oing；'
it begins with pitch－darkness， a coal－black page—
that is the Dark Ages．
"Now we shall turn the page！" said Godfather．"Do you see the pictures？ Only the wild sea and the blustering north－east wind；it is driving heavy ice－floes along；thereis no one out to sail onthem except great stone－blocks， which rolled down on to the ice from the mountains of Nor－ way． The north wind blows the ice away； he means to show the German mountains what boulders are foundup inthe north． The ice－fleet is already down in the Sound， off the coast of Zealand， where Copenhagen now lies；but there was no Copenhagen at that time． There were great sand-banks under the water，against one of these the ice－floeswith the big boulders struck； the whole of the ice－fleetstuck fast， the north－east wind could not float themagain， and so he grew as mad as he could be， and pro－nounced a curse upon the sand-bank，'the thieves'
ground，' as he called it；and he swore that if it ever lift－ed itself above the surface of the sea， thieves and robbersshould come there， gallows and wheel should be raised on it．
"But whilst he cursed and swore in this manner， thesun broke forth， and in its beams there swayed and swungbright gentle spirits， children of light； they dancedalong over the chilling ice－floes， and melted them， andthe great boulders sank down to the sandy bottom．
"' Sun－vermin！'said the north wind， 'is that com－rade－ship and kinship？I shall remember and revenge that． Now I pronounce a curse！'
"' We pronounce a blessing！'sang the children oflight．'The sand-bank shall rise and we will protect it！Truth and goodness and beauty shall dwell there！'
"' Stuff and nonsense！' said the north－east wind．
"Of all this the lantern had nothing to tell，" saidGodfather，"but I knew it， and it is of great importancefor the life and doings of Copenhagen．
"Now we shall turn the page！" said Godfather．
"Years have passed， the sand－bank has lifted itself； asea－bird has settled on the biggest stone，which jutted outof the water． You can see it in the picture． Years andyears have passed． The sea threw up dead fish on the sand． The tough lyme-grass sprang up， withered，rotted，and enriched the ground； then came several different kinds of grasses and plants； the bank became a green is－land． The Vikings landed there． There was level groundfor fighting， and good anchorage beside the island off thecoast of Zealand．
"The first oil－lamp was kindled，I believe， to cookfish over， and there were fish in plenty． The herringsswam in great shoals through the Sound；it was hard topush aboat through them；they flashed in the water as ifthere was lightning down there， they shone in the depthslike the Northern Lights．The Sound had wealth of fish，and so houses were builton thecoast of Zealand；the wallswere of oak and the roofs of bark； there were trees enoughforthe purpose．Ships came into the harbour； the oil－ lantern hung from the swaying ropes； the north－east windblew and sang—'U－hu－u．'If a lantern shone on the is－land， it was a thieves lantern． Smugglers and thieves ex－ercised their trade on' Thieves' Island．
"' Ibelieve that all the evil thatI wished will grow，'said the north－east wind．' Soon will come the tree，ofwhich I can shake the fruit．'
"And here stands the tree，" said Godfather．"Do yousee the gallows on Thieves'Island？ Robbers and murderershang there in iron chains，exactly as they hung at that time． The wind blew so that the long skeletons rattled， butthe moon shone down on them very serenely， as it nowshines on a rustic dance．The sun also shone down serene－ly， crumbling away the dangling skeletons， and from thesunbeams the children of light sang；'We know it！ Weknow it！It shall yet be beautiful here in the time to come！Here it will be good and splendid！'"
"'Cackle！ Cackle！' said the north-east wind．
"Now we turn over the page！" said Codfather．
"The bells were ringing in the town of Roskilde， where Bishop Absalon lived； he could both readhis Bible and swing his sword； he had power and will； thebusy fish－ermen at the harbour whose town was growingand was now a market－place， Absalon wished to protect these from as－sault．He sprinkled the unhallowed ground with holy water；Thieves'Island got a mark of honour． Masonsand carpen-ters set to work on it； a building grew up at the Bishop'scommand． The sunbeams kissed the red walls as they rose．There stood Axel's house：
The castle with its towers high in air， Its balconies and many a noble stair．
Boo！hoo！
The north－east wind in fury blew， But the stronghold stood unyielding all the same．And outsids it stood'The Haven'， the merchants'har－ bour：
Mermaid's bower'mid gleaming lakes， Built in groves of green． "The foreigners came there and bought the wealth of fish， built booths and houses， with bladders for window-panes—glass was too dear； then came warehouses with gables and windlasses． look！ inside the shops sit the oldbachelors；they dare not marry：they trade in ginger andpepper，the pepper－lads．
"The north-east wind blows through the streets andlanes， sends the dust flying， and tears a thatched roofoff． Cows and pigs walk about in the street-ditch．
"'Ishall cow and subdue them，' says the north-eastwind；'whistle round the houses and round Axel's house！I cannot miss it！ They call it" Gallows'Castle onThieves' Island"．'"
And Godfather showed a picture of it， which hehimself had drawn． On the walls were stake after stake，and on every one sat the head of a captured pirate，and showed the teeth．
"That really happened，" said Godfather；"and it isworth knowing about．"
"Bishop Absalon was in his bath－room， and heard through the thin walls the arrival of a ship of freebooters．At once he sprang out of the bath and into his ship， blewhis horn， and his crew came． The arrows flew into the backs of the robbers， who rowed hard to get away． The arrows fastened themselves in their hands， and there wasno time to tear them out． Bishop Absalon caught every living soul and cut his head off ，and every head was set up on the outer wall of the castle． The north－east windblew with swollen cheeks—with bad weather in his jaw， as the sailors say．
"'Here I will stretch myself out，' said the wind；' hereI will lie down and look at the whole affair．'
"It rested for houre， it blew for days ；years wentpast．
"The watchman came out on the castle tower； he looked to the east，to the west， to the south， and thenorth． There you have it in the picture，" said Godfather， and showed it．"You see him there， but what he saw Ishall tell you．
"From Steileborg's wall there is open water right out to Kge Bay， and broad is the channel over to Zealand'scoast． In front of Serritslev and Solberg commons，where the large villages lie， grows up more and more the newtown with gabled timber houses． There are whole streets for shoemakers and tailors， for grocers and ale－sellers； there isa market－place， there is a guild－hall， and close by the shore，where once there was an island， stands the splendidChurch of St． Nicholas．It has a tower and a spire， im－mensely high； how it reflects itselfin the clear water！ Notfar from this stands the Church of Our Lady where masses are said and sung， incense gives out its odour， and wax－ta－pers burn．The merchants' haven is now the Bishop' s town；the Bishop of Roskilde rules and reigns there．
"Bishop Erlandsen sits in Axel's house． There is cooking in the Kitchen， there is serving of ale and claret，there is the sound of fiddles and kettledrums． Candles and lamps burn， the castle shines， as if it were a lantern forthe whole country and kingdom． The north－east wind blows round the tower and walls， but they stand firm enough．
The north-east wind blows round the western fortifications of the town—only an old wooden barricade， but it holds out well． Outside of itstands Christopher the First， the King of Denmark．The rebels have beaten him at Skelskr；
he seeks shelter in the Bishop's town．
"The wind whistles， and says like the Bishop，'Keep outside！ keep outside！ The gate is shut for thee！'
"It is a time of trouble；these are dismal days； everyman will have his own way．The Holstein banner waves from the castle tower． There is want and woe； it is thenight of anguish． Strife is in the land， andthe Black Death； pitch－dark night—but then came Waldemar．
The Bishop's town is now the King's town；it hasgabled houses and narrow streets； it has watchmen， and atown－hall；it has a fixed gallows by the west－port． Nonebut townsmen can be hanged on it：one must be a citizento be able to dangle there， to come up so high as to seeKge and the hens of Kge． "'That is a lovely gallows，'says the north－eastwind；'The beautiful grows！' and so it whistled and blew． From Germany blew trouble and want．
"The Hansa merchants came，"said Godfather；
"they came from warehouse and counter， the rich tradersfrom Rostock， Lübeck， and Bremen ； they wanted tosnatchup more than the golden goose from Waldemar's Tower；they had more power in the town of the DanishKing than the Danish King himself； they came with armedships and no one was prepared．King Eric had no mind either to fight with his German kinsfolk； they were somany and so strong．So King Eric and all his courtiershurried out at the west－port to the town of Sor， to thequiet lake and the green woods， to the song of love andthe goblet's clang．
"But one remained behind in Copenhagen，a kingly heart， a kingly mind．Do you see the picture here， theyoung woman， so fine and tender， with sea－blue eyes andflaxen hair？it is Denmark's Queen，Philippa，the Eng-lish Princess．She stayed in the distracted city，where inthe narrow lanes and streets with the steep stairs， sheds，and lath－and－plaster shops， townspeople swarmed andknew not what to do． She has the heart and courage of aman．She summons burghers and peasants， inspires and encourages them． They rig the ships and garrison the block houses；they bang away with the carbines；there isfire and smoke， there is lightness of heart； our Lord willnot give up Denmark！ And the sun shines into all hearts，it beams out of all eyes in the gladness of victory．Blessedbe Philippa！ And blessed she is in the hut and in thehouse， and in the castle of the King， where she looks af－ter the wounded and the sick． Ihave cut a wreath and putit round the picture here， said Codfather．"Blessed beQueen Philippa！"
"Now we spring years forward！" saia Godfather，"andCopenhagen springs with us ．King Christian the First hasbeen in Rome，has been blessed by the Pope， and greetedwith honour and homage on the longjourney．He is build- ing here a hall of red brick； learning shall grow there， anddisplay itself in Latin．The poor man's children from theplough or workshop come there too， can live upon alms， can attain to the long black gown sing before thecitizens'doors．
"Close to the hall of learning， where all is in Latin，lies a little house； in it Danish rules，both in language andin customs． Thereis ale－porridge for breakfast，and dinneris at ten o'clock in the forenoon．The sun shines in through the small panes on cupboards and bookcases；inthe latter lie written treasures， Master Mikkel's 'Rosary'and'Godly Comedies'， Henrik Harpestreng's'Leech－ book'，and Denmark's'Rhyming Chronicle'by Brother Niels of Sor．' Every man of breeding ought to knowthese，'says the master of the house， and he is the man tomake them known． He isDenmark's first printer， the Dutchman，Gotfred van Gehmen．He practises the blessed black art of book－printing．
"And books come into the King's castle， and into thehouses of the burgher． Proverbs and songs get eternal life．Things which men dare not say in sorrow and pleasure aresung by the Bird of Popular Song，darkly and yet clearly；
it flies so free， it flies so wide，through the common sit－ting－room， through the knightly castle； it sits like a falconon the hand of the noble lady and twitters； it steals in likea little mouse，and squeaks in the dungeon to the enslaved peasant．
"' It is all mere words！' says the sharp north－eastwind．
"'It is spring-time！' say the sunbeams．'See howthegreen buds are peeping！'
"Now we will go forward in our picture－book！"said Godrather．
"How Copenhagen glitters！There are tournaments and sports；there are splendid processions； look at the gallantknights in armour ， at the noble ladies in silk and gold！king Hans is giving his daughter Elizabeth to the Electorof Brandenburg；how young she is， and how happy！ shetreads on velvet；there is a future in her thoughts， a lifeof household happiness．Close beside her stands her royalbrother， Prince Christian， with the melancholy eyes andthe hot， surging blood． He is dear to the townsfolk； heknows their burdens；he has the poor man's future in histhoughts．'God alone decides our fortunes！'
"Now we will go on with the picture－book，" saidGodfather．"Sharp blows the wind， and sings about the sharp sword， about the heavy time of unrest．'
"It is an icy－cold day in the middle of April．Whyis the crowd thronging outside the castle，and in front ofthe old tollbooth， where the king's ship lies with its sailsand flags？ There are people in the windows and on the roofs． There is sorrow and affliction， expectancy， andanxiety． They look towards the castle， where formerly there were torch-dances in the gilded halls， now so stilland empty；they look at the window－balcony，from whichKing Christian so often looked out over the drawbridge， and along the narrow street， to his Dovelet， the littleDutch girl he brought from the town of Bergen．The shut-ters are closed， the crowd looks towards the castle； nowthe gate is opening， the drawbridge is being let down．
king Christian comes with his faithful wife Elizabeth；shewill not forsake her royal lord， now when he is so hardbeset．
"There was fire in his blood， there was fire in histhoughts； he wished to break with the olden times， tobreak the peasants' yoke， to be good to the burghers， tocut the wings of 'the greedy hawks'； but they were toomany for him！He departs from his country and kingdom，to win friends and kinsfolk for himself abroad． His wifeand faithful men go with him；every eye is wet now in thehour of parting．
"Voices blend themselves in the song of time， against him and for him；a threefold choir． Hear the words of the nobles； they are written and printed ：
"'Woe to thee， Christian the Bad！ The blood pouredout on Stockholm's market－place cries aloud and cursesthee！'
"And the monk's shout utters the same sentence：
"'Be thou cast off by God and by us！ Thou hast called hither the Lutheran doctrine；thou hast given itchurch and pulpit，and let the tongue of the Devil speak．Woe to thee， Christian the Bad！'
"But peasants and burghers weep so bitterly．'Chris－tian， beloved of the people！No longer shall the peasant besold like cattle， no longer be bartered away for a hound！That law is thy witness！'
"But the words of the poor man are like chaff beforethe wind．
"Now the ship sails past the castle， and the burghersrun upon the ramparts， so that they may once more see theroyal galley sail．
"'The time is long，the time is hard； trust not infriends or kinsmen．'
"Uncle Frederick in the Castle of Kiel would like tobe king of Denmark． king Frederick lies before Copen-hagen； do you see the picture here， 'the faithful Copen－hagen'？ Round about it are coal－black clouds，with pictureon picture； only look at each of them！ It is a resoundingpicture；it still resounds in song and story： the heavy，hard， and bitter time inthe course oftheyears．
"How went it with King Christian， that wandering bird？ The birds have sung about it， and they fly far， overland and sea． The stork came early in the spring， from thesouth over the German lands； it has seen what will now betold．
"'Isaw the fugitive king Christian driving on a heather－grown moor； there met him a wretched car，drawnby one horse；in it sat a woman，King Christian's sister，the Margravine of Brandenburg—faithful to the Lutheran religion，she had been driven away by her husband．On thedark heath met the exiled children of a king．The time ishard，the time is long； trust not in friend or in kin．'
"The swallow came from Snderborg Castle with a doleful song：'King Christian is betrayed．He sits here inthe dungeon－tower deep as a well；his heavy steps wear tracks in the stone floor， his fingers leave their marks inthe hard marble．'
What sorrow ever found such vent As in that furrowed stone？
"The fish－eagle came from the rolling sea！ it is openand free； a ship flies over it； it is the brave Sren Norbyfrom Fyn．Fortune is with him —but fortune is changeful，like wind and weather．
"In Jutland and Fyn the ravens and crows scream：' We are out for spoil．It is grand；it is grand！ Here liebodies of horses， and of men as well．' It is a time oftrouble； it is the Count of Oldenburg's war．The peasantseized his club and the townsman his knife， and shouted loudly：'We shall kill the wolves and leave no cub of them alive．' Clouds of smoke rise from the burning towns．
"King Christian is a prisoner in Snderborg Castle；he cannot escape， or see Copenhagen and its bitter dis-tress． On the North Common stands Christian Ⅲ， wherehis father stood before．In the town is despair；famine isthere， and plague．
"Up against the church wall sits an emaciated wom－an in rags； she is a corpse； two living children lie on herlap and suck blood from the dead breast．
"Courage has fallen， resistance falls． Oh， thou faithful Copenhagen！
"Fanfares are blown． Listentothe drums and trum- pets！In rich dresses of silk and velvet，and with wavingplumes，come the noble lords on gold-caparisoned horses；they ride to the old market． Is there a joust or tournamentafter the usual custom？ Burghers and peasants intheir best array are flocking thither．What is there to see？Hasa bonfire been made to burn popish images？or does the hangman stand there， as he stood at Slaghoek's deathfire？The king，the ruler of the land，is Lutheran，and thisshall now be solemnly proclaimed．
"High and mighty ladies and noble maidens sit with high collars and pearls in their caps， behind the open win－dows，and see all the show．On an outspread carpet，undera canopy， sit the councillors of state in antique dress， nearthe King's throne．The king is silent．Now his will is pro－claimed in the Danish tongue，the will of the state－council．Burghers and peasants receive words of stern rebuke for theopposition they have shown to the high nobility．The burgher is humbled； the peasant becomes a thrall． Nowwords of condemnation are uttered against the bishops of the land． Their power is past．All the property of thechurch and cloisters is transferred to the King and the no－bles．
"Haughtiness and hate are there， pomp and misery．
"The time of change has heavy clouds，but also sun-shine；it shone now in the hall of learning， in the student's home，and names shine out from it right on to our time．Hans Tausen， the son of a poor smith in Fyn：
It was the little lad from Birkendè who came， His name flew over Denmark ，so widely spread his fame；
A Danish Martin Luther，who drew the Gospel sword， And gained a victory for truth and for the Word．
"There also shines the name of Petrus Palladius； soit is in Latin， but in Danish it is Peter Plade， the Bish－op of Roskilde， also the son of a poor smith in Jutland．Among the names of noblemen shines that of Hans Friis，the Chancellor of the kingdom． He seated the students athis table， and looked after their wants， and those of theschoolboys too． And one name before all others is greet－ed with hurrahs and song：
While but a single student here At learning's desk is seated， So long shall good King Christian's name With loud Hurrahs be greeted．
"Sunbeams came amongst the heavy clouds in thattime of change．
"Now we turn the page．
"What whistles and sings in'The Great Belt'underthe coast of Sams？From the sea rises a mermaid，withseagreen hair；she tells the future to the peasant．Aprince shall be born，who will become a king，great andpowerful．
"In the fields，under the blossoming white-thorn，hewas born．His name now blooms in song and story，in theknightly halls and castles round about．The exchangesprang up with tower and spire；Rosenborg lifted itselfand looked far out over the ramparts；the students them－selves got a house of their own，and close beside it stoodand still points to Heaven the'Round Tower'，whichlooks toward the island of Hveen where Uranienborg oncestood．Its golden domes glittered in the moonlight，andmermaids sang of the master there whom kings and sagesvisited，the sage of noble blood，Tycho Brahe．He raisedthe name of Denmark so high，that along with the stars ofheaven it was known in all the cultured lands of theworld．And Denmark spurned him away from her．
"He sang for comfort in his grief：
'Is not Heaven everywhere？
What more then do I require！'
"His song lives in the hearts of the people，like themermaid's song about Christian the Fourth．
"Now comes a page which you must look at in earnest，"said Godfather；"There is picture after picture，as there is verse after verse in the old ballads．It is asong，so joyful in its beginning，so sorrowful in itsending．
"A king's child dances in the castle of the King；howcharming she is to see！She sits on the lap of Christian theFourth，his beloved daughter Eleonora．She grows in wom－anly virtues and graces．The foremost man amongst the no－bles，Corfitz Ulfeldt，is her bridegroom．She is still achild，and still gets whippings from her stern governess；she complains to her sweetheart，and with good right too．How clever she is，and cultured and learned；she knowsLatin and Greek，sings Italian to her lute，and is able totalk about the Pope and Luther．
"King Christian lies in the chapel-vault in RoskildeCathedral，and Eleonora's brother is King．There is pompand show in the palace in Copenhagen，there is beauty andwit；foremost is the Queen herself，Sophia Amalia ofLyneborg．Who can guide her horse so well as she？Whodances with such dignity as she？Who talks with suchknowledge and cleverness as Denmark's Queen？'EleonoraChristina Ulfeldt！'—these words were spoken by theFrench Ambassador—'in beauty and cleverness she sur－passes all．'
"From the polished dancing－floor of the palace grewthe burdock of envy；it hung fast，it worked itself in andtwisted around itself，the scorn of contempt．'The baseborncreature！Her carriage shall stop at the castle－bridge：where the Queen drives，the lady must walk．'There is aperfect storm of gossip，slander，and lies．
"And Ulfeldt takes his wife by the hand in the quiet－ness of the night．He has the keys of the town gates；heopens one of them，horses wait outside．They ride alongthe shore，and then sail away to Sweden．
"Now we turn the page，even as fortune turns itselffor these two．
"It is autumn；the day is short，the night is long；itis grey and damp，the wind so cold，and rising in strength．It whistles in the leaves of the trees on the rampart，theleaves fly into Peter Oxe's courtyard，which stands emptyand forsaken by its owners．The wind sweeps out overChristianshaven，round Kai Lykke's mansion，now a com－mon jail．He himself has been hunted from honour andhome；his scutcheon is broken，his effigy hanged onthe highest gallows．Thus is he punished for his wantonthoughtless words about the honoured Queen of the land．Shrilly pipes the wind，and rushes over the open placewhere the mansion of the Lord High Steward has stood；only one stone of it is now left—'that I drove as a boul－der down here on the floating ice，'whoops the wind．'The stone stranded where Thieves'Island has sincegrown，under my curse，and so it came into the mansionof Lord Ulfeldt，where the lady sang to the sounding lute，read Greek and Latin，and bore herself proudly：now onlythe stone stands up here with its inscription：
"'TO THE ETERNAL SHAME AND DISGRACE OF THE TRAITOR CORFITZ ULFELDT．'
"'But where is she now，the stately lady？Hoo－ee！hoo－ee！'pipes the wind with ear-splitting voice．In the Blue Tower，behind the palace，where the sea－water beatsagainst the slimy walls，there she has already sat for manyyears．There is more smoke than warmth in the chamber；the little window is high up under the ceiling．Christianthe Fourth's petted child，the daintiest of maids and ma－trons，in what discomfort and misery she sits．Memoryhangs curtains and tapestries on the smoke－blackenedwalls of her prison．She remembers the lovely time of herchildhood，her father's soft and beaming features；sheremembers her splendid wedding；the days of her pride，her hours of hardship in Holland，in England，and inBornholm．
Naught seems too hard for wedded love to bear， And faithfulness is not a cause for shame．
"Still，he was with her then；now she is alone，alone for ever．She knows not his grave，no one knows it．
Her faithfulness to him was all her crime．
"She sat there for years，long and many，whilst lifewent on outside．It never stands still，but we will do thatfor a moment here，and think of her，and the words of thesong：
I keep my promise to my husband still In want and great necessity．
"Do you see the picture here？"said Godfather．"Itis winter－time；the frost makes a bridge between Lollandand Fyn，a bridge for Carl Gustav，who is pushing on irre-sistibly．There is plundering and burning，fear and want，in the whole land．
"The Swedes are lying before Copenhagen．It is bitingcold and a blinding snow；but true to their king，and trueto themselves，men and women stand ready for the fight．Every tradesman，shopman，student，and schoolmaster isup on the ramparts to defend and guard．There is no fear ofthe red－hot balls．King Frederick swore he would die in hisnest．He rides up there and the queen with him．Courage，discipline，and patriotic zeal are there．Only let the Swedeput on his grave－clothes，and crawl forward in the whitesnow，and try to storm！Beams and stones are rolled downon him；yea，the women come with brewing cauldrons andpour boiling pitch and tar over the storming enemy．
"This night king and commoner are one united power．And there is rescue and there is victory．The bells ring；songs of thanksgiving resound．Burgherfolk，here you wonyour knightly spurs！
"What follows now？See the picture here．BishopSvane's wife comes in a closed carriage．Only the high andmighty nobility may do that．The proud young gentlemenbreak the carriage down；the bishop's wife must walk tothe bishop's house．
"Is that the whole story？—Something much biggershall be broken next—the power of pride．
"Burgomaster Nansen and Bishop Svane grasp hands for the work，in the name of the Lord．They talkwith wisdom and honesty；it is heard in the church and inthe burgher's house．
"One hand-grip of fellowship，and the haven isblocked，the gates are locked，the alarm bell rings．
"The power is given to the king alone，he who re－mained in his nest in the hour of danger；he governs，herules over great and small．It is the time of absolutemonarchy．
"Now we turn the page and the time with it．
"'Hallo，hallo，hallo！'The plough is laid aside，the heather gets leave to grow，but the hunting is good．'Hallo，hallo！'Listen to the ringing horn，and the bay-ing hounds！See the huntsmen，see the king himself，King Christian Ⅴ：he is young and gay．There is merri-ment in palace and in town．In the halls are wax－lights，in the courtyards are torches，and the streets of the townhave got lamps．Everything shines so new！The new no－bility，called in from Germany，barons and counts，getfavours and gifts．Nothing passes current now except titlesand rank，and the German language．
"Then sounds a voice that is thoroughly Danish；itis the weaver's son who is now a bishop；it is the voiceof Kingo；he sings his lovely psalms．
"There is another burgher's son，a vintner's son；his thoughts shine forth in law and justice；his law－bookbecame gold-ground for the king's name；it will stand fortimes to come．That burgher's son，the mightiest man inthe land，gets a coat of arms and enemies with it，and sothe sword of the executioner is raised over the head ofGriffenfeldt．Then grace is granted，with imprisonment forlife．They send him to a rocky islet off the coast of Trond－hjem， MunkholmDenmark's St．Helena．
But the dance goes merrily in the palace hall；splendourand pomp are there；there is lively music，and courtiersand ladies dance there "Now comes the time of Frederick Ⅳ！
"See the proud ships with the flag of victory！Seethe rolling sea！it can tell of great exploits，of the gloriesof Denmark．We remember the names，the victorious Se－hested and Gyldenlwe！We remember Hvitfeldt，who，tosave the Danish fleet，blew up his ship，and flew toHeaven with the Danish flag．We think of the time，andthe struggle of those days，and the hero who sprang fromthe Norwegian mountains to the defence of Denmark，Peter Tordenskjold．From the glorious surging sea，hisname thunders from coast to coast．
There flashed a lightning through the powder-dust， A thunder rumbled through the whispering age；
A tailor-lad sprang from the tailor's board， From Norway's coast sailed out a little sloop， And over Northern seas there flew again The Viking spirit，youthful，girt with steel．
"Then there came a fresh breeze from Greenland'scoast，a fragrance as from the land of Bethlehem；it boretidings of the Gospel light kindled by Hans Egede and hiswife．
"The half leaf here has therefore a gold ground；theother half，which betokens sorrow，is ashen-grey withblack specks，as if from fire sparks，as if from disease andpestilence．
"In Copenhagen the plague is raging．The streets areempty；the doors are barred，and round about are crossesmarked with chalk；inside is the plague，but where thecross is black，all are dead．
"In the night the bodies are carried away，without thetolling－bell；they take the half－dead from the streets withthem；the army wagons rumble，they are filled withcorpses．But from the ale houses sound the horrid songs ofthe drunkard and wild shrieks．In drink they seek to forgettheir bitter distress；they would forget，and end—end！Ev－erything comes to an end．Here the page ends with the sec－ond time of distress and trial for Copenhagen．
"King Frederick Ⅳ is still alive；his hair has growngrey in the course of the years．From the window of thepalace he looks out upon the stormy weather；it is late inthe year．
"In a little house by the Westgate a boy plays withhis ball；it flies up into the garret．The little one takes atallow－candle and goes up to search for it；he sets fire tothe little house，and so to the whole street．It flares in theair，so that the clouds shine．The flames increase！There isfood for the fire；there is hay and straw，bacon and tar，there are piles of firewood for the winter－time，andevery-thing burns．There is weeping and shrieking andgreat confusion．In the tumult rides the old king，encour－aging and commanding．There is blowing up with powder，and pulling down of houses．Now there is fire also in thenorth quarter，ane the churches are burning，St．Peter'sand Our Lady's．Listen to the bells playing their lasttune：'Turn away thy wrath，Lord God of Mercy！'
"Only the'Round Tower'and the castle are leftstanding；round about them are smoking ruins．KingFrederick is good to the people；he comforts and feedsthem；he is with them；he is the friend of the homeless．Blessed be Frederick Ⅳ！
"See this page now！
"See the gilded carriage with footmen round it，witharmed riders before and behind it，coming from the cas-tle，where an iron chain is stretched to prevent the peoplefrom coming too near．Every plebeian man must go overthe square with bare head；because of this not many areseen there，they avoid the place．There comes one nowwith downcast eyes，with hat in hand，and he is just theman of that time，whom we name with pride：
His words like a cleansing storm－wind rang For sunshine in days yet to come；
And smuggled in fashions like grasshoppers sprang In haste to escape and get home．
It is wit and humour in person；it is Ludwig Holberg．TheDanish theatre，the scene of his greatness，has beenclosed，as if it were the dwelling－place of infamy．Allmerriment is confined；dance，song，and music are for- bidden and banished．The dark side of religion is now inpower．
"'The Danish prince！'as his mother called him；now comes his time with sunshiny weather，with the songof birds，with gladness and gaiety，and true Danish ways．King Frederick Ⅴ is king．And the chain is taken awayfrom the square beside the castle；the Danish theatre isopened again；there is laughter and pleasure and good hu-mour．And the peasants hold their summer festival．It is atime of gaiety after the time of fast and oppression．Thebeautiful thrives，blossoming and bearing fruit in sound，incolour，and in creative art．Hearken to Gretry's music！Watch the acting of Londemann！And Denmark's queenloves what is Danish．Louisa of England，beautiful andgentle；God in his Heaven，bless you！The sunbeamssing in lively chorus about the queens in the Danishland—Philippa，Elizabeth，Louisa！
"The earthly parts have long been buried，but thesouls live，and the names live．Again，England sends aroyal bride，Matilda，so young，and so soon forsaken！Poets will sing of thee in times to come，of thy youthfulheart and time of trial．And song has power，an inde－scribable power through times and peoples．See theburning of the castle，King Christian's castle！They tryto save the best they can find．See，the dockyard menare dragging away a basket with silver plate and preciousthings．It is a great treasure；but suddenly they seethrough the open door，where the flames are bright，abronze bust of King Christian Ⅳ．Then they cast awaythe treasure they are carrying；his image is much more tothem！that must be saved，however heavy it may be tocarry．They know him from Ewald's song，from Hart－mann's lovely melody．
"There is power in the words and the song，and itshall sound even twice as strong for the poor QueenMatilda．
"Now we shall turn farther on in our picture－book．
"On UIfeldt's Place stood the stone of shame；where is there one on the earth like it？By the Westgatea column was raised；how many are there like it on theearth？
"The sunbeams kissed the boulder，which is thefoundation under the'Column of Freedom'．All thechurch bells rang，and the flags waved；the people hur－rahed for the Crown-Prince Frederick．In the hearts andon the lips of old and young were the names of Bernstorff，Reventlow，Colbjrnson．With beaming eyes and thankfulhearts they read the blessed inscription on the column：
"'The King has decreed it：Serfdom shall cease；theagrarian laws shall be set in order and put in force，thatthe free yeoman may become brave and enlightened，dili-gent and good，a worthy citizen，and happy．'
"What a day of sunshine！What'a Summer festi－val'！
"The spirits of light sang：'The good grows！Thebeautiful grows！Soon the stone on UIfeldt's Place willfall，but Freedom's column shall stand in sunshine，blessed by God，the king，and the people．'
We have a highway old and wide And to the ends of earth it goes．
"The open sea，open for friend or foe；and the foewas there．It sailed up，the mighty English fleet；a greatpower came against a little one．The fight was hard butthe people were brave．
Each stood firm with dauntless breath， Stood and fought and met his death．
"They won the admiration of the foe，and inspiredthe poets of Denmark．That day of battle is still commem-orated with waving flags—Denmark's glorious second ofApril，the battle-day at the Roadstead．
"Years passed．A fleet was seen in re Sound．Wasit bound for Russia or Denmark？No one knew，not evenon board．
"There is a legend in the mouth of the people，thatthat morning in re Sound，when the sealed orders werebroken open and read，and instructions given to take theDanish fleet，a young captain stepped forward to hischief，a son of Britain，noble in word and deed：'I swore，'was his word，'that to my death I would fight for England's flap in open and honourable fight，but not to overpowerthe weak．'And with that he sprang overboard！
And so to Copenhagen sailed the fleet．
While far from Where they fought the battle stark， Lay he，the Captain—no one knows his name A corpse sea-cold，hidden by waters dark， Until he drifted shorewards，and the Swedes， Beneath the starry sky who cast their nets．
Found him，and bore him in their boat to land， And—cast the dice to win his epauletts！
"The enemy made for Copenhagen；the town went upin flames，and we lost our fleet，but not our courage andour faith in God；He casteth down，but He raiseth upagain．Our wounds were healed as in the battles of Valhal－la．Copenhagen's history is rich in consolation．
Our faith has been from times of old That God is ever Denmark's friend， If we hold firm，He too will hold， And still the sun shine in the end．
"And soon the sun shone on the rebuilt city，on therich cornfields，on the workers'skill and art；a blessedsummer day of peace，where poetry raised her Fata Mor－gana so rich in colour，with the coming of Oehlenschlger．
"And in science a discovery was made，far greaterthan that of a goldhorn in olden days，a bridge of gold wasfound：
A bridge for thought to dart At all times into other lands and nations．
"Hans Christian Oersted wrote his name there．Andsee！beside the church by the castle was raised a buildingto which the poorest man and woman gave gladly theirmite．
"You remember from the first part of the picture－book，"said Godfather，"the old stone－blocks，which rolleddown from the mountains of Norway，and were carrieddown here on the ice；they are lifted again from the sandybottom at Thorwaldsen's bidding，in marble beauty，love－ly to see！Remember what I have shown you and what Ihave told you！The sand－bank in the sea raised itself upand became a breakwater for the harbour，bore Axel'shouse，bore the bishop's mansion and the king's castle，and now it bears the temple of the beautiful．The words ofthe curse have blown away，but what the children of thesunlight sang in their gladness，about the coming time，has been fulfilled．So many storms have gone past，butmay come again and will again pass．The true and thegood and the beautiful have the victory．
"And with this the picture－book is finished；but notthe history of Copenhagen—far from it．Who knows whatyou yourself may yet live to see！It has often looked blackand blown a gale，but the sunshine is not yet blownaway—that remains；and stronger yet than the strongestsunshine is God！Our Lord reigns over more than Copen－hagen．"
So said Godfather，and gave me the book．His eyesshone，he was so certain of the thing．And I took thebook so gladly，so proudly，and so carefully，just as Ilately carried my little sister for the first time．
And Godfather said："You are quite welcome toshow your picture-book to one or another；you may alsosay that I have made，pasted，and drawn the whole work．But it is a matter of life or death，that they know at oncefrom where I have got the idea of it．You know it，so tellit them！The idea is due to the old oil－lamps，who just，on the last evening they burned，showed for the town'sgas－lights like a Fata Morgana，all that had been seenfrom the time the first lamp was lighted at the harbour，till this evening when Copenhagen was lighted both withoil and gas．
"You may show the book to whom you please，thatis to say，to people with kind eyes and friendly hearts；but if a death-horse should come，then close GODFATHER'S PICTURE－BOOK．"
干爸爸的画册
干爸爸会讲故事，讲得又多又长。他还能剪纸和绘画。在圣诞节快要到来的时候，他就拿出一本用干净的白纸订成的剪贴簿，把他从书上和报上剪下来的图画都贴上去。如果他没有足够的图画来说明他所要讲的故事，就自己画出几张来。我小时候曾经得到过好几本这样的画册，不过最好看的一本是关于“哥本哈根用瓦斯代替老油灯的那个值得纪念的一年”——这就是写在第一页上的标题。
“这本画册必须好好地保存着，”爸爸和妈妈说。“你只有在很重要的场合才能把它拿出来。”
但是干爸爸在封面上却是这样写着：
即使把这本书撕破也没有什么重要， 许多别的小朋友干的事情比这还糟。
最好玩的是干爸爸亲自把这本书拿出来，念出里面的诗句和其他的说明，并且还讲出一套大道理。这时故事就要变成真事了。
第一页上是从《飞行邮报》上剪下的一张画。你可以从这张画上看到哥本哈根、圆塔和圣母院教堂。在这张画的左边贴着一张关于旧灯的画，上面写着“鲸油”；在右边贴着一张关于吊灯的画，上面写的“瓦斯”。
“你看，这就是标题页，”干爸爸说。“这就是你要听的故事的开头。它也可以说是一出戏，如果你会演的话：‘鲸油和瓦斯——或哥本哈根的生活和工作’。这是一个非常好的标题！在这一页的下面还有一张小图画。这张画可不容易懂，因此我得解释给你听。这是一匹地狱马，它应该是在书后面出现的，但是却跑到书前面来了，为的是要说：开头、中间和结尾都不好。也许只有它来办这件事情才算是最理想的——如果它办得到的话。我可以告诉你，这匹地狱马白天是拴在报纸上的，而且正如大家所说的，在专栏中兜圈子。不过在晚上它就溜出来，呆在诗人的门外，发出嘶鸣声，使住在里面的人立刻就死去——但是假如这个人身体里有真正的生命，他是不会死去的。地狱马差不多永远是一个可怜的动物；他不了解自己，老是弄不到饭吃。它只有到处嘶鸣才找得到一点空气和食物来维持生命。我相信它不会喜欢干爸爸的画册的，虽然如此，它毕竟还值得占用这一页纸。
“这就是这本书的第一页，也就是标题页！
“这正是油灯亮着的最后一晚。街上已经有了瓦斯灯。这种灯非常明亮，把许多老油灯弄得一点儿光彩也没有。
“我那天晚上就在街上，”干爸爸说。“大家在街上走来走去，看这新旧两种灯。人很多，而腿和脑袋更要多一倍。守夜人哭丧着脸站在一旁。他们不知道自己会在什么时候像油灯一样被取消掉。他们把过去的事情回想得很远，因此就不敢想将来的事情了。他们想起许多安静的黄昏和黑暗的夜。我正靠着一个路灯杆站着，”干爸爸说，“油和灯心正在发出吱吱的声音。我听到灯所讲的话，你现在也可以听听。”
“我们能做到的事，我们全都做了，”灯说。“我们对我们的时代已经做了足够的工作。我们照着快乐的事情，也照着悲哀的事情。我们亲眼看见过许多重大的事情。我们可以说我们曾经是哥本哈根的夜眼睛。现在让新的亮光来接我们的班，来执行我们的职务吧。不过他们能够照多少年，能够照出一些什么事情来，这倒要看他们的表现了。比起我们这些老灯来，他们当然是要亮得多。但是这并不是什么了不起的事情，特别是因为他们被装成了瓦斯灯，有那么多的联系，彼此都相通！他们四面八方都有管子，在城里城外都可以得到支援！但是我们每盏油灯只是凭着自己的力量发出光来的，并没有什么裙带关系。我们和我们的祖先在许许多多年以前，不知把哥本哈根明亮了多么久。不过今天是我们发亮的最后一晚，而且跟你们——闪耀的朋友——一起站在街上，我们处于一个所谓次等的地位。但是我们并不生气或嫉妒。不，完全不是这样，我们很高兴，很愉快。我们是一些年老的哨兵，现在有了穿着比我们更漂亮的制服的兵士来接班。现在我们可以把我们的家族——一直到我们18代的老祖母灯——所看到和经历过的事情统统都告诉你们：整个哥本哈根的历史。有一天你们也要交班的，那时我希望你们和你们的后代，直到最后一盏瓦斯灯，也有我们这样的经验，同时也能讲出像我们这样惊人的事情来。你们会交班的，你们最好做些准备吧！人类一定会发现比瓦斯还要强烈的光来的。我听到一个学生说过，人类有一天可能把海水拿来点灯呢。”
当油灯正说着这些话的时候，灯心就发出吱吱的声音来，好像它里面真的有水一样。
干爸爸仔细地听。他想了想，觉得老街灯要在这个从油灯换成瓦斯灯的新旧交替之夜里，把整个哥本哈根的历史都叙述展览出来，非常有道理。“有道理的事情不能让它滑过去，”干爸爸说。“我马上就把它记住，回到家里来，为你编好这本画册。它里面的故事比这些灯所讲的还要老。
“这就是画册；这就是‘哥本哈根的生活和工作’的故事。它是从黑暗开始——漆黑的一页：它就是黑暗时代。”
“现在我们翻一页吧！”干爸爸说。
“你看到这些图画了没有？只有波涛汹涌的大海和狂暴的东北风在号叫。它推动着大块的浮冰。除了从挪威的石山上滚下来的大石块以外，冰上没有什么人在航行。北风把冰块向前吹，因为他故意要让德国的山岳看到，北国该有多么庞大的石块。整队的浮冰已经流到瑟兰海岸外的松德海峡，哥本哈根就在这个岛上，但是那时哥本哈根并不存在。那时只有一大块浸在水底下的沙洲。这一大堆浮冰和一些庞大的石块在沙洲上搁浅了。这整堆的浮冰再也移动不了。东北风没有办法使它再浮起来，因此他气愤得不可开交。他诅咒着这沙洲，把它称为‘贼地’。他发誓说，假如它有一天从海底露出来，它上面一定会住着贼和强盗，一定会竖立起绞架和轮子。
“但是当他正在这样诅咒和发誓的时候，太阳就出来了。太阳光中有许多光明和温柔的精灵——光的孩子——在飞翔。他们在这寒冷的浮冰上跳舞，使得这些浮冰融化。那些庞大的石块就沉到多沙的海底去了。
“‘这混蛋太阳！’北风说。‘他们是有交情呢，还是有亲族关系？我要记住这事情，将来要报仇！我要诅咒！’
“‘我们却要祝福！’光的孩子们唱着。‘沙洲要升起来，我们要保护它！真、善、美将要住在它上面！’
“‘完全是胡说八道！’东北风说。
“你要知道，对于这件事情，灯没有什么话可说，”干爸爸说。“不过我全知道。这对于哥本哈根的生活和工作是非常重要的。”
“现在我们再翻一页吧！”干爸爸说。“许多年过去了。沙洲冒出水面了。一只水鸟立在冒出水面的一块最大的石头上。你可以在图画里看见它。又有许多年过去了。海水把许多死鱼冲到沙洲上来。坚韧的芦苇长出来了，萎谢了，腐烂了，这使土地也变得肥沃起来。接着许多不同种类的草和植物也长出来了。沙洲成了一个绿岛。威金人就在这儿登陆，因为这儿有平地可以作战，同时瑟兰海岸外的这个岛也是一个良好的船只停泊处。
“我相信，最初的一盏油灯被点起来，完全是因为人们要在它上面烤鱼的缘故。那时的鱼才多呢。鲱鱼成群地从松德海峡游过来；要想把船在它们上面推过去真是非常困难。它们像闪电似地在水里闪耀着；它们像北极光似地在海底燃烧。松德海峡里藏着大量的鱼，因此人Viking：（8—11世纪时劫掠欧洲西北海岸的）北欧海盗。们就在瑟兰沿岸建筑起房子来：房子的墙是用栎树做的，房子的顶是用树皮盖的。人们所需要的树简直用不完。船只开进海港里来；油灯悬在摇摆的绳子上。 东北风在吹，在唱着歌：‘呼——呼——呼！’假如岛上点起一盏灯的话，那么这就是盗贼的灯：走私贩子和盗贼就在这个‘贼岛’上进行他们的活动。
“‘我相信，我所希望的那些坏事将会在这个岛上发生，’东北风说。‘树马上就要长出来；我可以从它上面摇下果实。’
“树就在这儿，”干爸爸说。“你没有看到这‘贼岛’上的绞架么？被铁链子套着的强盗和杀人犯就吊在那上面，跟往时一模一样。风把这些长串的骸骨吹得格格地响，但是月亮却沉静地照着它们，正如它现在照着人跳乡村舞蹈一样。太阳也在愉快地照着，把那些悬着的骸骨打散。光的孩子在太阳光中唱着歌：‘我们知道！我们知道！在不久的将来，这儿将是一块美丽的地方，一块又好又漂亮的地方！’
“‘这简直像小鸡讲的话！’东北风说。
“我们再翻一页吧！”干爸爸说。
“罗斯基勒这个小镇的教堂的钟声响起来了。亚卜萨龙主教就住在这儿。他既能读《圣经》，也能使剑。他既有威力，也有决心。这个小镇在不断地发展，现在变成了一个商业中心。亚卜萨龙保护这个港口的一些忙碌的渔人，免得他们受到侵略。他在这个污秽的土地上洒了圣水：‘贼地’算是得到了一次光荣的洗礼。石匠和木匠开始工作，在主教的指挥下，一幢建筑物出现了，当那些红墙筑起来的时候，太阳光就吻着它们。这就是‘亚克塞尔之家’。
有塔的宫殿，非常庄严；
有台阶，有阳台；
呼！嘘！
东北风怒气冲冲吹呀！扫呀！
宫堡仍然屹立不动！
宫堡外面就是‘海坟’——商人的港口。
人鱼姑娘的闺房， 在海上绿林的中央。“外国人到这儿来买鱼，同时搭起棚子，建筑房屋。这些房屋的窗上都镶着膀胱皮，因为玻璃太贵。不久以后，具有山墙和起锚机的栈房也建立起来了。你瞧吧，这些店里坐着许多老单身汉。他们不敢结婚；他们做生姜和胡椒的买卖——他们这些‘胡椒绅士’！
“东北风在大街小巷里吹，扬起许多灰尘， 有时把草扎的屋顶也掀开了。母牛和猪在街上的沟里走来走去。
“‘我要吓唬他们，降服他们，’东北风说。
‘我要在那些房子上吹，在“亚克塞尔之家”上吹。我决不会弄错的！人们把它叫做贼岛上的“死刑堡”。’”
于是干爸爸指着一张图画——这是他亲手画的：墙上插着一行一行的柱子，每根柱子上挂着一个俘虏来的海盗的露出牙齿的脑袋。
“这都是真事，”干爸爸说。“这是值得知道的；能够理解它也有益处。
“亚卜萨龙主教正在浴室里，他隔着薄墙听到外边有海盗到来，便马上从澡盆里跳出来，跑到他的船上，吹起号角，他的水手立刻就都来了。箭射进这些海盗的背上。他们拼命摇着桨，想逃命。箭射进他们的手，他们连拔出的工夫都没有。亚卜萨龙主教把海盗一个个都活捉过来，砍掉脑袋，然后把这些脑袋挂在城堡的外墙上。东北风鼓起腮来吹，满嘴含着坏天气——正如水手说的一样。
“‘我要在这儿摊开四肢，’风儿说。‘我要躺在这儿瞧瞧这全部把戏。’
“他躺了好几个小时，吹了好几天。许多年过去了。”
“守塔人在塔门口出现了；他看看东方，看看西方，看看南方和北方。你可以在图画里看到他这副样儿，”干爸爸说，同时用手指着：“你看他就在那儿。不过他看到了一些什么东西， 我一会儿再告诉你。
“‘死刑堡’的墙外是一片汪洋大海——它一直伸展到却格湾。这条通到西兰的海峡是很宽的。塞里斯勒夫草场上和索尔堡草场上有许多村庄。在它们前面，一个由许多具有山墙的木房子所组成的新城市渐渐发展起来了。有好几条街全是住着鞋匠、裁缝、杂货商人和啤酒商人；此外还有一个市场，一个同业公会的会所；在曾经是一个小岛的海边上现在还有一座美丽的圣尼古拉教堂。这教堂有一个非常高的尖塔——它的倒影映在清亮的水里是多么清楚啊！离这儿不远是圣母院，人们在这里念着和唱着弥撒，焚着芬芳的香，点着蜡烛。商人的港口现在成了一个主教城。
罗斯吉尔得的主教就在这儿统治着。
“爱兰生主教坐在‘亚克塞尔之家’里。厨房里正在烤着肉，仆人端上了啤酒和红葡萄酒，提琴和黄铜鼓奏出了音乐。蜡烛和灯在燃着；城堡大放光明，好像它是整个王国里的一盏明灯。东北风吹着塔和墙，但是塔和墙却仍然屹立不动。东北风吹着城西边的堡垒——
只不过是一道木栏栅，但是这堡垒也是屹立不动。丹麦的国王克利斯朵夫一世就站在堡垒外面。叛乱者在雪尔却尔攻打他；他现在要到这个主教的城市来避乱。
“风儿在呼啸，在像主教一样地说，‘请你站在外面！请你站在外面！门是不会为你而开的！’
“那是一个困苦的时代，那是一些艰难的日子。每个人喜欢怎样就怎样。霍尔斯坦的旗帜在宫殿的塔上飘扬。处处是贫困和悲哀。
这是痛苦的黑夜。全国都有战争，还有黑死病在流行着。这是漆黑的夜——但是瓦尔得马尔来了。
“主教的城现在成了国王的城。城里遍布有山墙的屋子和窄狭的街道；有守夜人和一座市政厅；它的西区设有一个固定的绞架——只有市民才够资格在那上面受绞刑。一个人必须是这城市的居民才能被吊在那上面，高高地眺望却格和却格的母鸡。
“‘这是一座美丽的绞架，’东北风说；‘美要不断地发扬！’它吹着，它呼啸着。
“它从德国吹来了灾害和苦恼。
“汉萨的商人到来了，”干爸爸说。“他们是从栈房里和柜台后面来的；他们是罗斯托克、吕贝克和卜列门的富有商人。他们所希望得到的不只是瓦尔得马尔塔上的那只金